


To the Winner Go the Spoils

by carmenta



Category: Lions of Al-Rassan - Kay
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-25
Updated: 2006-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-08 02:18:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/71677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carmenta/pseuds/carmenta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two men set out to change the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To the Winner Go the Spoils

On the day Ammar ibn Khairan returned from the palace of Al-Fontina in Silvenes, Almalik of Cartada had already heard of the events. Tidings like these spread quickly, and Ammar had no doubt that the news of the slaying of the last kalif of Al-Rassan had spread like a wildfire in dry grass. And even if the court in Silvenes had attempted to keep the assassination a secret, Almalik would have known. Too much was at stake for him.

The last khalif was dead, and Almalik had claimed Cartada as his own. Rich Cartada with her strategic importance, her wealth, her armies. It would not be long until the rest of Al-Rassan bowed to her and to her master.

Almalik had known whatAmmar had planned to do. In a way, he had been the one to guide Ammar, direct his thoughts towards the necessity of this murder. As long as a puppet remained on the throne, he had said, Al-Rassan would remain weak. All the potential for glory would be wasted.

It was about power, of course. Almalik had always wanted it, and as King of Cartada he now held it. And Ammar wanted him to hold it. A strong man leading Cartada, someone who could shape Al-Rassan and turn it into the paradise the children of the stars had dreamed of. Ammar could see the possibilities; he also knew that if they became reality, his name would be known as that of one of the men who had brought it all about.

Fame was a curious motivator.

He'd prefer to be remembered for his intellect or for his poems, not for a necessary death. But even if that was not possible, he would be remembered.

He could already see the change. Guards no longer questioned his purpose, but bowed respectfully as they let him pass. Courtiers looked upon him with a new wariness which they had not thought he deserved, at a mere twenty years and with no strong familial ties to back him. When he had come to his suite of rooms earlier, he had found that many who had dismissed him as an unimportant court attendant now vied for the attention of Almalik's confidant and friend, the only one who had been privy to his plans. It would take his servants a day at least to deal with the gifts which had hastily been sent to ascertain his goodwill. Almalik had wanted them to know that Ammar held his regard, and the court had rushed to do his bidding.

Power. Influence. He'd gained them with his actions in the Al-Fontina, and he was not going to allow his heart to grow heavy because of it. He needed to focus on securing his new position. Later there would be time to properly honour Muzafar. For days Ammar had felt the beginnings of a poem in his mind; he would do penance that way. Maybe, he thought as the guards bowed to him again and opened the doors to Almalik's bedchamber, maybe he would be remembered for that poem and not for what had prompted it.

Then these aspirations were pushed aside for later contemplation.

Ammar performed the quadruple obeisance, as protocol demanded when approaching a khalif. Almalik wouldn't claim the title, but Ammar knew him well enough. The gesture would flatter, and it would ascertain that the new King of Cartada knew of Ammar's continuing respect and support for his cause.

As expected, Almalik did not interrupt him or tell him to rise. Ammar completed the ritual, graceful from long practice, then remained on his knees and waited. Best to play this safe; Almalik had always had a penchant for symbolism. And while Ammar thought of him as his friend, he also did not forget that he was facing his new ruler. This man had to be handled carefully.

"Tell me of the Al-Fontina," Almalik said from where he reclined on a settee piled with silk cushions, the casual position carefully arranged.

Ammar looked up. No servants in the room, not even the body slaves who would normally attend upon Almalik in his bedchamber. A good sign, he thought. He had not been certain whether a man who had just assassinated a khalif was welcome in the proximity of a king without sufficient precautions being taken.

"It is still as beautiful as the last time we walked in its gardens," he answered.

Almalik shot him a shrewd glance. "Then you have not heard?" he asked.

Ammar frowned inwardly. Surprises, at this time, were not something he appreciated. "I fear I have not," he said carefully.

An amused look on his face, Almalik leaned forward. "The Al-Fontina has fallen together with its ruler," he said, then rose from his seat in one fluid movement. He had always been graceful, and he knew how to use it to his advantage. Ammar noticed that he was already dressed for the day, despite the early hour. He had expected to find Almalik still asleep, and only the order to come to him as soon as he reached Cartada had made him come here so soon.

"Fallen?" he asked.

"Looted," Almalik clarified, stepping over to a small side table that held glasses and a carafe. He poured a glass of dark red liquid – Ammar did not delude himself into thinking that it was anything but wine – and held it out. Ammar swiftly rose and accepted, but did not drink.

Even if he were not considering the possibility that Almalik might choose to remove an inconvenient co-conspirator, the alcohol alone would have made him wary. This wasn't the time to risk losing his focus.

"Apparently it took less than a day for the slaves and servants to disappear, together with much of the wealth the khalifs had assembled."

Something which Ammar had predicted and warned about. It saddened him to think of the gardens as vandalized and stripped of their beauty.

"I will have to exact punishment," Almalik continued. "They despoiled what is now mine. It would be a show of weakness unless I act."

"Not necessarily," Ammar found himself saying as he watched Almalik pour a second glass of wine for himself.

Quirking an eyebrow, Almalik gestured with the glass in his hand.

"You could abandon the Al-Fontina," Ammar said. "Stay here in Cartada and draw a line between yourself and the khalifs."

"A show of disregard?" Almalik asked, sipping at his wine.

Ammar nodded. He wanted to see those responsible for such destruction suffer, but he couldn't speak of such whims. It would be unwise to indulge himself, even though he knew that he could have brought Almalik to punish them as they deserved. Later he would have the time to do something in response to such meaningless destruction. So few beautiful things remained.

"An interesting thought." Smiling, Almalik finally motioned him for him to come closer. "I must thank you, my friend. For this suggestion and for what you have done for me."

Ammar smiled in return, bowing his head. This was not the time to bemoan killing an old man who had been nothing but a puppet. Had there been a way to make him theirs, they would have done so. At least he hoped that they would have. Almalik's friendship was worth much to him; by now he valued it higher than the life of an old, blind man sitting at a fountain. He wished he did not have doubts as to whether he had not erred in following the suggestions Almalik had whispered for months.

"You need not thank me," he said. "This is my wish, too."

A strong ruler for Al-Rassan, someone with a vision bright enough to burn. Strong enough to turn the realm into what it had the potential to be. Almalik could do it; he had enough support, the backing Ammar lacked if he had had the ambition to place himself at the head of Cartada.

"I will need you," Almalik said, taking another step towards him. "Think of what we can accomplish!"

Much, which was why Ammar had gone to Silvenes two months ago. But only one could ascend to the throne. He wondered what this would mean to their friendship if Almalik thought he was a rival rather than a supporter.

It would be imperative, for now, not to let the new king doubt him.

"You have me," he said, bowing again. "My king."

Almalik laughed. "I like the sound," he said, patting Ammar's shoulder. The gesture was uncharacteristic for him, and Ammar found himself flinching with surprise. It seemed as though Almalik was set on startling him. He suspected that it might be on purpose.

"Then I shall call you that," he said and wondered whether the morning in the gardens of the Al-Fontina hadn't cost him the right to call Almalik his friend, after all.


End file.
